From Moon to Joshua by Matthew Moffitt

From Moon to Joshua by Matthew Moffitt

Author:Matthew Moffitt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Dystopian Novel, Western Science Fiction, Military Science Fiction, Western Noir, space western, Contemporary Science Fiction, Literary Science Fiction, Realist Novel, action and adventure, action, adventure, cult, survival, alternative world, science fiction books, sci fi books, literary, literature, reading, e-Book, book, books, story books, Kindle, Kobo, Nook, iBook
Publisher: EDGE-Lite (an imprint of Hades Publications, Inc.)
Published: 2016-09-22T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter 17

Malcolm King

The Rusty Spoon Tavern

“Saw you and ol’ Dray at da Dockin’ justa week back or so? Why you still doin’ that?” Kettle shot me a glance through the haze of smoke risin’ from his cigar; he looked to be enjoyin’ the bloody thing. He better. I gave him my only one.

I paced, waitin’ for my steak and whiskey, keepin’ my eyes on Kettle: he looked like he just snorted half the drugs back in Toreth. He wore large circular glasses that would’ve made his eyeballs as big as the frames — if they had frames — and a helmet that covered his bald head, with a patchy light bulb in the center. His simple white coat and cotton pants both had more holes in ‘em than the strips of clothin’ holdin’ ‘em together. Them boots he wore had a few of his toes juttin’ out of the leather; toes that were scorched dark brown like the rest of his body.

A thin old man, wit more lines on his dark face than ‘n sand, and wit gray hairs spurtin’ out from his nose, his ears, and the sides of his head, Kettle was a man whose mind prevented ‘em from eatin’ a decent meal. The man couldn’t focus long ‘nough to eat a bloody sandwich, but he could focus on healin’ a body. Who woulda thought? And another thing: he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Yer not sayin’ much,” he said, pushin’ the words past his cigar.

He pulled and scratched at the gray ends extendin’ ‘bout a foot from the side of his head as he took a break from tendin’ tah Anya. Then he smiled, but not ‘fore darting his eyes back to her. He knew. Damn.

“Yer not from round hurr, are ya? Nuhbody looks like dere from round hurr, ‘cept you don’t havda look of a woman from the Desert—”

“Kettle,” I said. “Just fixer up.”

The doc paused, then nodded. “Right. Whelp. Whas your deal, Malcolm? Been runnin’ round wit Dray for three yurs, showin’ up at tha Dockin’ — ya got a death wish?”

I clenched my teeth together. I wasn’t in the mood. “Only thing that make this place interestin’.”

“If yer not gonna say sumptin useful, just shut it.”

At his words, the rusty hinges whined and the door creaked open. Instinct led my hand to my gun, but there was no need for it. In stepped a short bald man wit half his lip torn off; he was holdin’ the steaks on plates ‘n one hand ‘n the whiskey flasks ’n the other. I took out a few cigarettes and handed ‘em to ‘em as he set the food down on the table. I longed for the food, as well as for a good woman tonight. I already had one; I hoped I would get both.

“Th-thans,” he said.

Before the man reached the door, I stopped him. “Where’s Dray?”

“Who?”

“Skinny, gray hair, sword on his hip — looks like he got cut himself shavin’ one too many times”

He shook his head.



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